


En Passant

by threewick



Category: Kingsman (Movies)
Genre: But It's Mostly Gentle Smut, But... Mostly Smut., First Time, It's a Little Sweet, M/M, Slight Straight!Eggsy, Smut, There's a Tiny Bit of Fluff, literally just smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-07
Updated: 2017-10-07
Packaged: 2019-01-10 03:04:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,098
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12289875
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/threewick/pseuds/threewick
Summary: Harry Hart is not a man who needs to be brought down, a man who needs debasing; Harry is the debased, Harry is the one who will ruin Eggsy. And Eggsy had offered himself up on a silver bloody platter.





	En Passant

**Author's Note:**

> Here's some garbage, please request more at my tumblr threewickfic.

Eggsy Unwin is not gay.

Not that it would matter much if he was, mind. He’s not some sort of homophobe or nothin’ - he just happens to prefer women. Well, prefer them exclusively. He likes everything about them: the way they move, soft skin sliding against his palms; the way they smell, like girl soap and sweet with a hint of spice; the way they sound, all high breathy moans and whispers of his name. He likes the press of tits against his chest and the circle of coquettish fingers around his cock, the wet of a cunt on his face and the - well. Now we’re just belaboring the point. And the point is that Eggsy is not, nor has he ever been, interested in men.

But he is, and always has been, interested in that which he cannot have.

And Harry Hart is someone he absolutely cannot have.

Everything about Harry is off limits. Eggsy had known it from the first sweeping glance he’d dared across Harry’s long form, where he’d taken stock of Harry’s tailored suit, his gleaming shoes, his neat hands and perfect hair. The way he said Eggsy’s name - throaty and posh, the syllables cushioned on a silver tongue and awarded to Eggsy like a gift. He can’t afford Harry, and Harry wouldn’t deign to pay Eggsy a second glance - or so Eggsy had believed.

And then Harry had taken taken him on. Despite the shit that Eggsy was mired in back home - despite his perpetual cowardice when it came to Dean and his muppets, despite the complete inability he had to properly protect his mum, despite the fact that he was just a fuckin’ pleb and everyone could see it. Harry had swept all the shit and muck aside as easily and effortlessly as he made everything else he did seem, not so much batting an eye as Eggsy reminded him, rather often, just where he came from.

_Being a gentleman has nothing to do with the circumstances of one’s birth. Being a gentleman is something one learns._

Eggsy had learned. He’d followed every order to a T, nearly killing himself in an attempt to land in that bloody K, splitting his knuckles cracking through a two-way mirror, pissing himself just a bit when he’d genuinely believed he was about to get arsefucked by a speeding goddamned _train_. He’d learned to make something of himself, to twist his body and sharpen it until it was a whetted weapon. He’d learned how to affect a posh accent to trick people into thinking he was someone they should step aside for, and he’d learned so much impossibly boring shit from textbooks that he doubted he had very much space left over for anything else. And he’d done it all for himself, of course, and his mum and his sister, but also for Harry. Because Harry had believed in him, and pushed him, and stuck his neck out for him.

And now Eggsy is one of the last two candidates left standing, and he has twenty-four hours alone with Galahad - with Harry. And despite it all, despite everything Eggsy has done to push himself closer to Harry’s level, Harry is still so impossibly out of reach, untouchable and unflappable and Eggsy, who is very much not gay, thank you, wants nothing more than to seize Harry fucking Hart by his spotless lapels and drag him down into the mud, to smear his own dirty fingerprints all over Harry until Harry cracks and comes apart beneath Eggsy’s touch. He wants, absurdly and fiercely, to fuck Harry until he’s ruined, until a shard of him is always Eggsy’s and Eggsy can keep him no matter what.

And he has twenty-four hours to make it happen.

“Alright, first lesson. You should have asked me before you took your seat. Second lesson: How to make a proper Martini.”

“Yes, Harry,” Eggsy says emphatically, leaning backward in his seat and allowing a grin to overtake his features. He feels distinctly jittery, his nerves on edge because of what he plans on doing tonight - he’s never been with a bloke before, has no idea what to expect on that end of things. He knows that Harry has; he’s picked up on the sly, murmured quips between the senior agents about things that happened before Eggsy’s time, of honeypot missions with handsome sheikhs and billionaire boytoys that Harry was rumored to have gotten a bit too into. 

But the question now is how - how the fuck is he going to get Harry Hart in bed? He knows how to do it with girls, of course. A bit of liquor to loosen the tension, a few slick jokes and then some well-aimed compliments. Playing the chav accent up a bit; posh girls really do like a bit of rough. And the rough girls, well. They like it rougher. Surely Harry, all posh and shine, can’t be too much different?

Eggsy realizes with a sharp jolt that he’s been zoning out, staring fixedly at Harry’s arse in his fitted trousers as Harry fiddles with the drinks at wet bar instead of listening to Harry’s careful instructions. He hears the tail end - ‘and never, under any circumstances, are you to accept a martini with vermouth’ - and obediently takes the drink Harry is now proffering him, flashing him a particularly cheeky wink and grin.

“Cheers,” Eggsy says happily, taking a hearty sip before immediately gagging.

Harry, sitting behind his desk once more, smirks.

“Yes, quite. I’ve heard it’s an acquired taste,” he tells Eggsy primly, before taking a healthy mouthful of his own without so much as a crease in expression.

“Tastes like fuckin’ gasoline,” Eggsy says, smacking his mouth in displeasure, though he keeps ahold of his drink. That single hideous sip had already soothed his nerves somewhat and he feels righted again, his purpose back at the forefront of his mind. 

But how to open.

A moment passes in companionable silence, Eggsy sniffing at his glass and taking a couple more ginger sips, Harry leaning back in his chair and drinking his while looking thoughtfully at the opposite wall. He’s clearly thinking about something - a casual world-saving assassination, likely - and Eggsy steels his resolve, eyes drinking in the sight of Harry, posture perfect and not a speck of dust on his Kingsman suit.

“Harry,” he opens, swirling the martini around absently in its glass. Harry glances over at him with polite interest. Eggsy realizes he isn’t quite sure what to say, and he blinks.

“Harry,” he tries again, this one more thoughtful, and now Harry’s body is angled towards him, his legs uncrossing from where he’d had one ankle perched gamely on the opposing knee to instead place both of his Oxford-clad feet back onto the floor. Harry sets his glass - now empty, Eggsy notices with a thrill - on the desk.

“What is it, Eggsy?” Harry encourages, his tone gentled near imperceptibly.

Eggsy swallows.

“Harry, have you got… someone?”

Harry looks only slightly taken aback, as though this is a question he hadn’t expected to hear _now_ though it isn’t entirely unanticipated. He considers it for only a pause, Eggsy’s heart climbing into his throat. He wonders if it feels different, to fuck a man in the arse than it does to fuck a woman in the arse. He really can’t bloody wait to find out.

“No, I haven’t. Not at present. But you’ll find, Eggsy, that while being a Kingsman agent is demanding, there is still ample time for relationships and things of that -”

“Harry, you like blokes, right?” Eggsy blurts out, shameless in his interruption. Harry’s eyebrows lift his entire brow, faint lines appearing in his forehead.

“I - Well. Yes,” Harry says, now looking thoroughly vexed. Eggsy takes a savage delight in having surprised Harry, and he grins at him a hair wolfishly, something that only further narrows Harry’s eyes. “Though I don’t see how that’s relevant, the agency -”

“Do you think I’m fit?’

Harry lets out a sharp sound of exasperation now, finally blinking away from Eggsy’s gaze. He pauses for a moment, still in his seat, before he stands to take his empty glass back to the bar. Eggsy keeps his eyes clapped on Harry’s back, draining his own foul martini as Harry makes himself a second, wondering what exactly is going on inside Harry’s silver-streaked head.

He doesn’t look at Eggsy again until he’s sat back behind his desk and has downed a third of his martini. Then, he levels his gaze at Eggsy, a new, uncharacteristic steel edging it.

“What exactly is it you want, Eggsy?” he asks in an even, measured tone, one that’s so kind and detached it causes Eggsy’s desire - to rip Harry open and make him moan himself hoarse - only to heighten.

“Alright, see, I was thinking - I know you think I’m fit. ‘Course you do. I’m a good lookin’ bloke, and you’re into blokes. And I was thinking - I was _hoping_ \- look, Harry, I think you and I should fuck.”

Eggsy keeps his tone pragmatic, splaying his hands out before himself in the air, his martini glass discarded on the floor by his feet. He keeps his eyes fixed on Harry’s once he’s done speaking, searching Harry’s expression for any shift or shock. He’d been hoping for shock; to see a chink in Harry’s impenetrable armor, to penetrate him a bit here before he penetrates him later.

But Harry’s expression doesn’t change. He simply regards Eggsy with that same cool, pleasant gaze, politeness and fine breeding written into every slight angle of his body. Eggsy stares back at him, waiting, a bit aggravated that Harry hasn’t reacted the way he’d hoped but sure that something will come of this -

And then Harry finally speaks, and it is not what Eggsy had been expecting to hear.

“Eggsy, my dear boy. You don’t want that.”

Harry’s tone, rather than shocked or embarrassed, is borderline sympathetic, his gaze on Eggsy gentle and apologetic in a way that makes Eggsy feel shoved off balance. He gapes at Harry for a second, before realizing that he’s somehow been the one rendered speechless and feeling a prickle of aggravation.

“What the fuck’s that mean? Oi - no, hang on. I’m tellin’ you I do, that I want us to fuck, and you’re - what d’you mean, I don’t want that?”

There is something in Harry’s tone that suggests it isn’t necessarily Eggsy’s sexuality he is referring to. As if there is some other factor at play, one that only Harry knows, and once again Eggsy isn’t able to reach it. Eggsy bristles.

“I mean,” Harry starts again, his tone patient as he plucks the speared olive out of his glass, “that even ignoring your exclusively heterosexual sexual history, you would not enjoy - as you put it - a ‘fuck’ with me.”

Eggsy scoffs, feeling his ears heat slightly at how poorly this is going. He hadn’t thought it’d be this hard, or at least he’d thought that if Harry _did_ say no, he’d cite some bullshit Kingsman-hierarchy reason for it. Not that he’d simply be… disinterested.

“And why not,” Eggsy challenges, his eyes flashing as he glares at Harry.

Harry lifts his gaze slowly from the skewered olive up to Eggsy’s and studies him for a single, long heartbeat before answering,

“Because, Eggsy. I would ruin you.”

 _That_ certainly isn’t what Eggsy was expecting, and Eggsy is the one to look taken aback now, his mouth parted slightly in confusion as he blinks at Harry. Harry still looks utterly unruffled, still regarding Eggsy blandly, cordially, as he pops the olive in his mouth. Eggsy watches unseeingly as the muscles in Harry’s jaw move as he chews, trying to decipher what the fuckin’ hell that means, before shaking his head slightly to clear it and barking a harsh laugh.

“Fine. I don’t care. I want it, Harry. I want to do it. I want it, me and you, tonight. Right? Twenty-four hours ‘til my last test. Let’s make them count, yeah?”

Eggsy’s stood up now, advances towards Harry’s desk as he speaks. He leans forward, splays his palms across the table and leans right into Harry’s face, smelling the gin and squeeze of lemon of his drink. Harry tilts his chin only a fraction of an inch upward to better see him, though his gaze is even and his mouth is relaxed. He swallows the olive - his throat bobs with it, but other than that, he doesn’t move.

“Are you sure that’s what you want?” he asks, his voice still genial and even, though Eggsy feels a thrill sprint down his spine at a new, strange silkiness there.

“ _Yes_ ,” Eggsy breathes, widening his eyes to showcase his aggravation at how fuckin’ _long_ this is taking. Harry studies him for a beat longer, eyes searching Eggsy’s, and then suddenly, seemingly satisfied, he sets his glass down on the desk again with a shushed ‘clink’ and runs a hand along his jaw.

“Very well,” he finally grants, and it’s so formal that Eggsy wonders if he’s made a mistake - if Harry is going to be as stiff in bed as he is everywhere else, full of polite ‘excuse me’s and ‘oh my’s that’ll utterly kill any stiffy Eggsy manages to get up. He’s already swimming upstream here, what with Harry being a bloke and all.

There’s a small frown pinched into the bridge of his nose as he watches Harry stand and move to the door, pressing a series of numbers on a small keypad just above the handle that makes something unseen whir and then click. It sounds like locks and Eggsy realizes with another lurch of his gut that he’s locked in - not something to panic about, since Harry wouldn’t _make_ him do anything, but it’s happening, it’s really happening, and now Harry is turning, and Eggsy’s hands automatically curl into fists as he shifts his weight to his back foot. Because Harry’s eyes are dark and veiled, gleaming with something predatory that has the alarm bells in Eggsy’s brain chiming _danger, danger_. 

“If at any point, Eggsy, you need me to stop, just tell me,” Harry tells him, taking a step forward, and the alarm bells are really fuckin’ ringing now, clanging in Eggsy’s head even as he forces himself to relax his hands. “Do you understand? Tell me you understand, Eggsy - good, there’s a good lad.”

Eggsy had nodded tightly, his mind a muddle of what he should do, of how he should proceed, of why it suddenly feels as though _he_ is the prey when he’d come here to be the predator -

And then Harry closes the distance between them and he’s caught Eggsy in a kiss, a deep, sudden kiss that foregoes all of the usual ‘getting to know you’ gentleness. No, Harry’s tongue is in Eggsy’s mouth and he tastes sharp and dry like gin. He’s kissing Eggsy breathless, coaxing Eggy’s mouth into a response, Eggsy’s hands trapped uselessly at his sides as Harry sinks one of his own into Eggsy's hair and slips the other up into Eggsy’s shirt.

It’s an onslaught, a fucking _onslaught_ , and Eggsy doesn’t come back into his right mind until he’s kissing Harry back fiercely, his own hands now fisted loosely at Harry’s lapels. It’s as though he’s attempting to vie for control of the kiss and Harry is relinquishing it in tiny bits, allowing Eggsy the chance to feel in control for only a moment before snatching it away with a sudden nip to his lower lip that forces Eggsy to hiss or a suck to his tongue that pushes out a groan.

Somewhere in this Harry’s backed him up against the opposing wall, both of his hands now roving smoothly across Eggsy’s naked chest and back, his thigh slotted between Eggy’s legs as he crowds him in. Eggsy moves his own hands a bit sluggishly, reaching up to splay a hand along Harry’s jaw - his strong, broad jaw, so unlike a girl’s but still somehow so good. He’s focusing on this new sensation when suddenly Harry distracts him into a sharp inhale, Eggsy breaking the kiss with the suddenness of the feeling from Harry grinding his thigh perfectly up against Eggsy’s cock. He’d only been half-hard from the kissing and anticipation but this feels amazing, so fucking good without even the curl of fingers, and he groans into Harry’s mouth.

“Good, Eggsy,” Harry murmurs against Eggsy’s mouth, and the praise sends a shudder straight down Eggsy’s spine, his fingers tightening at Harry’s chest. “Very good.”

And then, quite suddenly, Harry is gone, leaving Eggsy splayed against the wall and panting, sharp slaps of color high on his cheeks as he tries to make sense of what the _fuck_ just happened.

“What - where the fuck are you going?” Eggsy demands in a faint slur, stumbling forward slightly to follow Harry as he moves about the small study. Harry doesn’t answer him straightaway, busy at the opposite wall, and then suddenly the wall is sliding away to reveal a modest, shadowed bedroom - Harry’s bedroom. With a bed.

“Fuck _yes_ ,” Eggsy exhales eagerly, shucking off his shirt and flinging it to the floor - only for Harry to suddenly seize him by the wrist, his eyes flashing dark and dangerous, his jaw set.

“You don’t undress until I tell you,” he tells Eggsy, his tone still even though it’s heavy with that same silky command that Eggsy had heard before. “Do you understand me?”

Eggsy scoffs at this, the start of a smile shaping his mouth, before his gaze catches and hooks on Harry’s and he realizes that Harry is not kidding. About this, or what he’d said before - about ruining Eggsy. And suddenly, Eggsy realizes that he’s not the one who will be doing the fucking tonight, and suddenly, the smile slides off of his face and he realizes that he had been so impossibly wrong about Harry fucking Hart. 

Harry Hart is not a man who needs to be brought down, a man who needs debasing; Harry is the debased, Harry is the one who will ruin Eggsy. And Eggsy had offered himself up on a silver bloody platter.

“Do you understand me?” Harry repeats, his voice lower, his grip tightening. Eggsy swallows thickly, thinking again about how he’s not into blokes, thinking about how this was going all wrong, thinking about how fucking hard he is right now with Harry’s fingers cutting off circulation to his hand.

“Yes,” he tells Harry, no trace of his usual cheeky smile as he stares up into Harry’s dark eyes.

“Very, very good Eggsy,” Harry tells him again, the faintest flicker of approval breaking up the dark lurking behind his eyes. He releases Eggsy’s wrist gently, using that same hand to smooth out his lapels.

“Go to my bed and wait for me.”

Eggsy doesn’t need telling twice. He practically trips over himself on his way to the bed, flinging himself onto it on his back, his heart hammering a tattoo against his chest. He can still see Harry from his vantage point against the headboard: Harry is moving about the study, cleaning up the martini glasses and - and fuck, disarming himself. Eggsy hadn’t realized Harry was still packing but he watches, tenting his trousers, as Harry slides off his suit jacket and drapes it over the chair before unbuckling his shoulder holster. Two more guns and four blades follow along with the toxic Oxfords and then Harry is heading towards the bedroom, wearing only his shirtsleeves and his trousers.

“Take off your trousers,” Harry tells him, his voice as shadowed as the room as he begins to undo his cufflinks. Eggsy scrambles quickly to comply, wriggling out of his trousers and chucking them to the floor, now splayed on Harry’s bed wearing next to nothing. He’s yo-yoing between ‘what the fuck am I doing’ and ‘why the fuck isn’t he touching me,’ his eyes tracking Harry’s movements with the proficiency of a year's’ spy training.

“And your socks,” Harry says, now shrugging out of his shirt. Eggsy is awarded a glimpse of a well-muscled chest and arms before he’s losing his socks, impatient and winding up tighter and tighter at the agonizing methodicalness of it all.

“Good, Eggsy. And your pants.”

Eggsy hesitates only a split second before hastening to obey, kicking off his briefs until he’s poured out, naked, on Harry Hart’s bed, his cock a stiff line against his belly as he watches Harry’s eyes rove over him. Harry had been in the process of unbuckling his belt but had stopped short at the sight of Eggsy naked, and suddenly - _finally_ \- his expression cracks, the veneer of propriety slipping as he devours Eggsy with his gaze.

“You are exquisite,” Harry tells him, his words too lofty for the moment but the way they’re delivered - in a gravelled, near-angry growl - is perfect, grinding shivers up into Eggsy’s pelvis as he allows himself to be taken apart under Harry’s gaze. “For Christ’s sake, Eggsy.”

And then Harry moves quickly, the belt sliding free of the loops with a hiss of leather on fabric, barely hitting the ground before Harry is climbing onto the bed, covering Eggsy’s body with his own. 

They’re kissing again though this time isn’t like before. Eggsy realizes far too late that before had only been a warning of sorts, a cautionary warm-up, a greedy promise. The way Harry is kissing him now is a riot of teeth and tongue, taking and taking and giving Eggsy little chance to do much else than moan. And he is - god, he is, moaning his fucking head off as Harry drops his hips to put a slight pressure onto his cock, the slick expensive fabric of his trousers a coarse whisper against the sensitive underside that somehow only drives him madder.

“Harry,” Eggsy manages to gasp, taking advantage of the momentary break as Harry moves his mouth down to suck a line of searing kisses into his throat. He’s moving his hips in a slow, dragging roll, teasing sensation into Eggsy’s cock, giving him so little but somehow just enough. “Harry, fuck, Harry, this - what the fuck, who even _are_ you, _fuck_.”

The last word is half-lost in a groan, Eggsy bucking up into another deliberate press of Harry’s thigh. Harry makes no answer, humming a low noise into his neck instead, propped up on his left forearm and using his right hand to pinch Eggsy’s nipple sharply. Eggsy responds with a strangled yell, his hands automatically clutching at Harry’s biceps. It’s all so foreign, touching a man like this, but Eggsy hardly has time to dwell on the differences; he’s far too preoccupied with how good Harry feels, his mouth now trailing a blazing path down to Eggsy’s collarbones.

“Harry - want you naked. Want you naked, too,” Eggsy manages to bite out, squirming needily beneath Harry’s hands. These words, finally, seem to seize Harry’s attention, and he lifts his head, his lips full and flushed even in the darkness from where he’d been marking Eggsy’s throat. His eyes are still ablaze with that dark fire but his movements are fluid, gentle. He shifts back slightly, pulling his body up and away from Eggsy’s, and Eggsy lets out a frustrated noise of disapproval.

Harry shushes him.

He actually fucking _shushes_ him, like a bloody _granddad_ , and Eggsy is about to point this out (a bit unkindly, as retribution for the hickeys) when suddenly there’s a strong, sure hand wrapped around his cock, and the words stick and die in his throat. Instead he lets out a low keen, gritting his teeth momentarily and bucking up into the skilled ring of Harry’s fingers.

“Yes, Eggsy, there you go,” Harry murmurs, and Eggsy doesn’t have to see Harry to know what expression he’s wearing: focused, but hungry with that same burning lust fueling his actions. “You’re so perfect, darling, so responsive - no.” The word is a sharp rebuke and Eggsy swallows a noise of frustration, withdrawing his hands where he’d been reaching for Harry’s flies. “I’m touching you now, Eggsy.”

Eggsy _does_ crack his eyes open at this, his expression twisted into a half-glare as he breathes shallowly against the rhythm Harry’s taken up with his hand. He’s pulling Eggsy off in long, languid strokes, his wrist twisting at odd intervals, never predictable, keeping Eggsy’s blood popping and fizzing erratically in his ears. It feels good - no, it feels fucking great, better than any wank Eggsy’s ever had and far better than any handjob he’s ever gotten. Hell, it might beat out half of the blowjobs.

“Harry,” he mumbles, a warning. He’s got one hand clasped tightly, needily, around Harry’s free wrist, the other twisted into a fist in the bed sheets. He doesn’t know how long it’s been since that first kiss - it could be anywhere between twenty minutes and two hours - but somehow he feels himself nearing the edge, one solid push away from tumbling out of himself and ending this entire thing before it’s begun.

“I haven’t told you you can come, Eggsy,” Harry reminds him in an uncharacteristically severe tone, a tone that only pushes Eggsy nearer to orgasm and he groans aloud from it.

“Harry -” he grits out, sinking his blunt fingernails into Harry’s skin where he’s clutching his wrist.

“Yes,” Harry encourages, finally sounding a bit breathless himself, and Eggsy slits his eyes open to see Harry’s polished expression faltering and crumbling, giving way to reveal something ravenous and base and gorgeous underneath.

“Harry, _please_ -” he moans, and Harry lets out a low, short moan in answer, his hand moving faster around Eggsy’s cock, needier.

“God, yes, Eggsy - yes, you beautiful, filthy boy. Go on, Eggsy, come for me -”

Eggsy doesn’t let Harry get the entire sentence out before he’s crying out, his back arching against the bed as he wrenches Harry’s wrist in his grip and tears at the bedsheets. He comes, hard, all over his belly, his mind fuzzing out for a moment as he revels in the pure bliss of it, clinging to it even as he comes down and finds himself panting in Harry Hart’s ruined bed.

“That - that doesn’t usually happen,” Eggsy pants, slinging an arm up so he can scrub a hand over his face. “Usually I’m - much more - you know.”

He should probably be embarrassed that he’s just ruined what he’d intended to be an epic fuckfest by coming all over himself because of a _handjob_ , but it really had been an excellent handjob and fuck, it’s hard to be upset about anything when he feels so fantastic and floaty.

“That’s quite alright,” he hears Harry say from close by, his manners still intact though his tone is still colored with that delicious darkness. Harry’s fingertips are playing across his belly, gentle and exploratory, and Eggsy realizes with a thrilled jolt of lazy arousal that they’re tracking through his come. 

“Sorry, really - hardly fair, you never even got to have a go,” he continues, babbling now in a tried-and-true effort of staving off any awkwardness. And there _will_ be awkwardness, of this he’s sure, because how the fuck could there not be? He’s just had almost-sex with his boss, the same man who -

“Oh, I’m not done with you yet, Eggsy.”

Eggsy’s breath hitches at the venomous pleasantness of these words, the delivery of them as mild as ever though there’s a latent promise in them that has Eggsy opening his eyes, peering at Harry through the shifting darkness. Harry’s fingers are still moving across his skin, still wet with his come, toying with his spent cock, teasing his balls, moving… downward…

Eggsy tenses the moment Harry’s wet fingertips trail across his hole, his eyes locking on Harry’s in the semidarkness.

“Remember,” Harry murmurs, now teasing at the tight ring with two languid fingertips, “you are welcome to tell me to stop at any time.”

There’s a challenge in those words, in the flinty glint of Harry’s dark eyes. Eggsy can read it even now, with his own come drying on his belly and in the shaded night of Harry’s bedroom. It’s the faintest hint of mockery, because Harry must know: he must know that Eggsy had intended this to go very differently. That Eggsy had planned on coming here and breaking Harry open, showing him some tricks and taking what was his. He must be enjoying it, putting Eggsy in his place properly, showing Eggsy just how wrong he’d been.

Eggsy doesn’t even need to weigh his options before he’s exhaling a careful breath, keeping his eyes trained on Harry’s as he gives a slight shake of his head.

“Clever boy,” Harry murmurs, and coaxes out another high moan from Eggsy with a press of his index finger.

Eggsy’s heard about this before, knows about it from doing it with girls - it’s harder if you don’t relax, worse if you don’t relax, and he’s trying to focus on relaxing, on making sure it’s only good. Except… except he doesn’t need to do try to do anything, really, since everything that Harry’s doing _does_ feel good, all playful presses and measured strokes.

It feels so good that he wants more of it, that he’s drawing his legs up and away, opening himself up to Harry without thought. He’s shifting his body downward, grinding against Harry’s fingers, needy and somehow horny again even though he’d just jizzed all over himself not ten minutes ago.

And Harry is speaking to him again, low words of praise and encouragement, telling Eggsy to take what he wants, to do as he wants. To fuck himself on his fingers if he’d like, and then Eggsy is, he’s got one hand tight on Harry’s bicep and the other loose around his own cock as he fucks a shallow rhythm onto Harry’s fingers, and holy fucking hell it feels so goddamned good, and why has he never tried this before, even during a sad solitary wank??

“Eggsy,” Harry says in a tone of warning, and then suddenly his hand is gone, and Eggsy is left breathless and flushed and aggravatingly empty. And it’s all the worse because Harry’s gone, too, has shifted off of the bed, is moving in the shadows and rummaging in a drawer.

“Harry,” Eggsy croaks, pleading and needy. He’s still touching his cock, still working it back up into full hardness, his eyes glued to the outline of Harry’s shoulders. Harry doesn’t turn straightaway, busy with something that Eggsy can’t see, but then Eggsy hears the definite zip of trousers and the rustle of fabric and fuck, Harry is turning back towards him, and he’s naked, and shit, of course Eggsy’s hard again. Of _course_ he is.

“That ain’t gonna fit in me,” Eggsy says in a tone of mild horror, his eyes widening at the sight of Harry’s cock. It’s not anything irregular, but it’s thick, and long enough, and suddenly Eggsy feels like perhaps he’s bitten off a bit more than he can chew.

Harry moves towards him in the darkness, not answering straightaway, instead dropping down into a bend to catch Eggsy’s mouth in a kiss - in a different kiss.

This one is slow, and soft, and thorough. This kiss feels like something melting, something warm and all-encompassing, and Eggsy forgets to touch himself in favor of kissing Harry back, of reciprocating this moment that makes him feel flushed and perfect all the way to his ankles.

When Harry draws back, Eggsy feels like putty.

“Eggsy, my dear boy. I would never hurt you.”

And it’s dangerously close to romantic, those words and that kiss, and that is _not_ what Eggsy had intended with his proposition. And the way that Harry is looking at him right now - his dark eyes still alight, but tempered with something honeyed and gentle - is dangerously close to adoring, and Eggsy’s chest feels flooded and sun-wet.

But Harry doesn’t let it get awkward. Instead, Eggsy finds out just what he’d been busy with across the room, arching into the sudden intrusion of two slick fingers pushing past his rim. Eggsy bucks down against it, his cock stiff again against his belly, and then he shifts his leg and feels _Harry_ hard against his hip, the long, unyielding line of him, lube and precome smearing across his belly. 

“Fuck -” Eggsy hisses, a hand shooting out to grip a handful of Harry’s hair at the nape of his neck.

“Fuck, Eggsy,” Harry agrees in a breathless slur, now pistoning his fingers in and out, fucking Eggsy into incoherence with just two fingers. It’s good but not nearly as good as Harry’s hand on his cock, at least not until Harry’s knuckles nudge against something electric within him, forcing a choked noise out of Eggsy’s throat as he fucks down onto Harry’s hands.

“Good boy,” Harry groans, making it his purpose now to brush that spot with every forward thrust, rendering Eggsy’s speech an incoherent, garbled mess.

“Eggsy,” Harry exhales, shifting on the bed, still fingering him roughly. He’s changing their positions, slotting himself between Eggsy’s legs, and Eggsy says nothing, only yanks Harry closer, makes it clear that he wants this. He doesn’t have to wait long; Harry draws his long fingers free and there’s a moment of mixed ragged breathing and inaction, and then -

“Fuck - _Harry_ ,” Eggsy cries, clutching onto Harry with both hands now, obscenities frothing past his lips as Harry sinks into him, inch by inch, stretching him open and filling him up and feeling gorgeous and terrifying and perfect all at once.

“God, yes, Eggsy, you’re so fucking tight, _Christ_ ,” Harry manages, his body now flush with Eggsy’s as he begins to fuck him in earnest. 

It’s obscene - it’s amazing. It’s unlike anything else, and Eggsy is splitting apart beneath Harry’s hands, kissing him again without thought, letting Harry use him and abuse him because it’s good, it’s safe, it’s the best fuck he’s ever had bar none.

Even when Harry breaks the kiss Eggsy clings to him, hands clutching at Harry’s thighs as Harry fucks into him over and over, again and again, unmaking and remaking Eggsy with each shift in position, each new angle, each new torrent of filthy praise that he bestows upon him. When Eggsy comes again, it’s harder than the last time, his fingernails digging little half-moons into the meat of Harry’s back, Harry talking him through it with a wave of murmured obscenity. His body feels shattered and spent, covered in bruises, and he thinks madly, blearily, that he might die here in this bed, useless and boneless and marked up with Harry’s fingerprints.

“Eggsy,” Harry pants, his mouth pressed to Eggsy’s shoulder. “Eggsy, yes, fuck-”

And Eggsy _feels_ him coming, even without the hissed noise pressed into the curve of his neck or the sudden tightening of the hands at his sides. It feels weird and amazing, hot and wet and dirty in a way that’s new and his and Harry’s, and when Harry falls back onto the bed on the opposite side, panting and sweaty, Eggsy makes a noise of protest.

“Harry, you wanker, can’t you at least give us a cuddle before you -”

“For fuck’s sake, Eggsy, a moment,” Harry pants in return, though he slings an obliging arm out and grips Eggsy by the forearm, dragging him into his side for an embrace.

They lay there for a moment, breathless and obscene, Eggsy’s head pillowed on Harry’s bicep and their legs a tangle. Eggsy can feel Harry’s come drying on his thighs, can’t help but smirking a bit at such a thing even though he can already feel the onset of tomorrow’s soreness. He thinks that perhaps he shouldn’t feel so smug - this, after all, is not at all how he’d thought the night would go. But it had been his idea, after all, and fuck, had it been a good one.

“Harry,” Eggsy says softly into the darkness, his eyes trained on the ceiling above. 

Harry hums a noise of acknowledgment from somewhere to his right.

“Harry, I’m gonna want to do that again.”

A gentle, fondly exasperated sigh comes from the same direction, followed by the soft press of fingertips to his hip.

“Yes, I thought you might,” Harry answers, his voice back to normal though there is an extra layer of affection rounding the words.

Eggsy grins to himself, shifts against the bedclothes.

“Harry.”

“Hmm.”

“This don’t mean I’m gay or nothin’, though.”

“Quite, Eggsy.

“But Harry -”

“Eggsy, go to sleep.”

And he does.

**Author's Note:**

> My first ever fic! Potentially my last because who have I become, it's 4:30 in the morning and I should be sleeping. But hey it was fun! Let me know what you think because I crave validation! Exclamation points!!


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